


Backwards & In Heels

by Farmulousa



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Arse Worship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Gratuitous Closet Sex, Idiot harry, Livid Ginny, Professional Hermione, Quickies, Scary draco, Smut, Workplace Sex, finger sucking kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:06:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23700529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Farmulousa/pseuds/Farmulousa
Summary: Hermione is having a long day on top of a career of very long days.He pinned her to the wall with his hips and deepened their kiss. It hurt to kiss Draco, not only because he was so far gone in his need for her that his teeth were making just as much an appearance as his tongue, but also because kissing Draco was a drug. Addictive, inducing delirium. Euphoria.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 24
Kudos: 287





	Backwards & In Heels

**Author's Note:**

> This came to me and I couldn't let it go & then suddenly I was writing my first ever smut?!
> 
> A massive thank you to [weestarmeggie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/weestarmeggie/pseuds/weestarmeggie) & [Raven Maiden](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raven_maiden/pseuds/raven_maiden/works?fandom_id=136512) for their incredible Alpha & Beta work on this. It's only as good as they are.

Hermione had never truly gotten used to walking in heels. For most of her career, she’d seldom worn them at work unless she had meetings with the Hospital Trustees or plans for the evening. But as her career had climbed new heights through her twenties and she had managed to break through the systemic muggleborn prejudices in her early thirties, she had found the heels were required for her meetings more and more. Her smart dragonhide leather loafers with a built-in cushioning charm and just the right amount of comfort had begun to sit unloved in the cupboard in her hallway, and then suddenly, she was Head Healer at St. Mungos and sensible footwear became a luxury. 

She walked from conference room to conference room, ensuring funding not only for the hospital’s patient care, but also for the many research fellowships she was responsible for. She had wanted to make a difference. She’d thought about politics, but when she had gone back to Hogwarts to complete her education and watched Harry and Ron dive headfirst into the Auror programme, she saw how little work got done for the good of Wizarding and Magic Kind. There was another job in the Department for the Protection of Magical Creatures waiting for her— Kingsley had even sent her a contract, but it was too slow. 

Healing was fast. 

Her first days in the programme for Healers in Training had been heady. She and her year group were thrown in at the deep end in the Emergency Department, where they learnt to grow bones in a matter of hours and heal skin in seconds. It might have been considered hell if most of them hadn’t already been through just that. All Hermione could ever think when she was there, twenty years old and tired out of her mind, was how much good she was doing and just how fast she was doing it. 

Fourteen years later and the good she got to do now felt awfully slow in comparison. She no longer watched bones snap back into place before her eyes or saw potions keep people from death. She watched old wizards with large Gringotts vaults shuffle money around in tedious monotony until they finally decided on how _little_ they would give her for the project they had already approved. 

As she walked towards her office, from yet another dead end meeting with a Ministry aid on the subject of making Wolfsbane free for all who needed it, she was grateful to see the end of a very long day. She’d been called into the hospital at nearly four o’clock that morning by a member of the Trust whose grandchild had a suspected case of dragon pox. 

Almost once a month, someone who thought they were more important than everyone else would request only to be seen by the Head Healer and she would be pulled from ward to ward from that point onward where someone would have some to ask for or something they needed to share with her. Those days were always exhausting and made infinitely longer by the fact that she had to endure them in _heels._

“Healer Granger!” Hermione turned to see a Healer in Training approaching her, almost in tears. Her own expression must have been terrifying because the young man looked like he might run in the opposite direction, but whatever he needed from her must have been very important because he pushed through his obvious fear to face her. 

“Healer Brighton, is it?” she asked, recognising him from the Muggleborn Luncheon that was held last month. He stood very still and stammered slightly, and Hermione took a deep breath. “Well?” 

“Yes, um, well you see…” He was stumbling over his words. This always happened with the younger ones. The longer she was out of Hogwarts, the longer they had to put more of the War in History of Magic textbooks. Eventually, they would all be calling her Granger and muttering under their breath about their shitty hours, their funding or something else she probably had little to zero control over. But right now, four weeks into the new training program, Healer Brighton and his classmates would stop and stare at her as she walked through hallways and whisper reverently whenever she went for a cup of tea in the staff room. 

“What is it that you need from me, Healer Brighton? I’m afraid I’m at the end of my shift, so should you need something you might have to talk to Healer Finnegan as he is on the la-”

“Auror Potter is here,” Brighton blurted quite loudly. He then slapped his hand over his mouth with his eyes wide, clearly mortified. 

“Harry? I don’t have plans to see him, is he in the foyer?” Hermione walked into her office and set down some of the parchments she’d been carrying from various meetings throughout the day. She took off her white healer robe that she only really wore because it made her feel better about how little she did day to day, and summoned her handbag that floated from the windowsill where she had dropped it nearly fifteen hours previously. 

“No, you see Healer Granger, you’ve been requested. Auror Malfoy deman— requested, he _requested_ for you to come see Auror Potter at your earliest convenience.” 

Hermione was sure that Draco Malfoy hadn’t politely requested anything in his entire adult life, least of all to an unknown Healer, but it was good of Brighton to keep things professional. 

“Why on earth would Auror Malfoy want me to see Harry? Harry can contact me any time he likes.” She had obviously missed something, but she was just so _tired,_ out of her mind with it really, that she couldn’t understand what Brighton was saying. 

“Auror Potter is in the Emergency Department, Healer Granger. He’s a patient.” Brighton, Alexander, her mind provided for her, was being incredibly kind and talking very slowly. His words reached through the fog of her brain and threw her into action. 

She slammed out of her office, past the young Healer and down the corridor. There was a patient on a bed floating towards the bank of lifts that went down to the ground floor, where the Emergency Department was located, but she wasn’t going to be able to stand still in front of those shining gold doors for a single second. She flew through the swing doors to the right of the lifts and powered down the stairs. She was seven floors from Harry, who could have done anything. He was an Auror, the best they had, but he was also the stupidest by a country mile. 

You would think that literally dying would have caused a little wariness in her best friend, or that Ron being injured in the line of duty and being transferred into a purely tactical role in the Auror Department would mean he held even a little care for his own life. You would _think_ that being partnered with _Draco bloody Malfoy, the_ most careful, meticulous and by the book man Hermione had ever known would mean that he was protected from things like this happening. But no. Two years ago, she’d had to regrow a part of his skull when he had cast a Patronus at a runaway Dementor whilst jumping from a building. The year before that, he’d had to be under Draught of Living Death for two days while she regrew the bones in his legs. He was no longer a boy who saved the world, but a man who was a menace to himself and to Hermione’s sanity. 

When she reached the ground floor she was vaguely aware of heavy breathing behind her, and she turned to see Healer Brighton, doubled over and panting. His dark skin sheened and his chocolate eyes were wide; he would learn to move fast very soon and for now she would need to be his teacher. He pointed down the corridor, and Hermione made a note to thank whomever had had the clarity of mind to move Harry away from the public and to a part of the ward that wasn’t used unless they were really snowed under with patients. 

A flash of blonde came into view from just above the curtains surrounding the last bed. She watched the unusually dishevelled hair pace back and forth, and saw when the wizard that it belonged to heard her coming. Hermione wasn’t sure that many people would recognise the relief on Draco Malfoy’s face, even if they were told it was there. There weren’t many people that knew his face as well as she did, and maybe the only other person who did was lying unconscious in the bed between them with three stasis charms sedating him and all the obvious signs of a broken cheek bone, shoulder and forearm. Hermione had never ever felt more awake in her entire life. 

“Talk me through it, Healer Brighton.” She waved her wand over Harry’s body, carefully assessing any additional damage she couldn't see. She found it very difficult to see her friend like this. There had been a time after the war when they had lived together in Grimmauld Place where she found it upsetting to see him asleep. When Hagrid had carried Harry’s lifeless body into the Hogwarts courtyard, a lifelong fear had bloomed in Hermione’s subconscious. They had once been very, very drunk and he had fallen asleep on the sofa next to her but awoken to her crying her heart out on his chest about half an hour later. Right now she made a point to not look at his face, only the shapes and colours she could conjure to give her an idea of his condition. It occurred to her as she worked that Brighton wasn't talking. “Healer Brighton?”

It became clear, as she turned, just why Brighton was unable to speak, because he was being held by a notorious and wholly unhelpful sneer from Malfoy. The tension in the tall man’s shoulders was all fear, but could and often was, easily mistaken for sheer rage. Malfoy had been Harry’s friend for quite some time now, after a lot of healing and Hermione forcing them to spend time with each other. He cared so much for the people he kept close to him that it could be frightening to others. 

“Malfoy, you’ll need to make your way to the waiting room now,” Hermione said, turning back to Harry. She took a long, slow breath of relief when the pale blue shimmer of her spell settled and it became clear there was no internal bleeding, lessening her worries.

“You fucking what, Granger?!” Malfoy exploded. Hermione stared up at him with a carefully blank stare and watched from the corner of her eye as Healer Brighton sunk into a chair, clearly relieved that those cold, grey eyes were no longer glaring into his soul. 

“You need to make your way to the waiting room. Myself and Healer Brighton will take care of Harry. If that is unacceptable, you could always return back to the Ministry and begin the mountain of paperwork you undoubtedly will have as a result of,” she waved a hand over Harry’s prone form, “this one's idiocy. I’ll make sure to update you on his condition.” There was absolutely no way she could meet his stare. She knew very well that personal relationships were toxic to any sort of healing and that she shouldn’t be the one treating Harry anyway. She was too close, so close to breaking, and if she thought about it or made eye contact with Malfoy then she would definitely cry. “Leave now, Draco.” 

She tried to make her last words softer, offering him some sort of comfort. The dread the man lying supine on the bed wrought in her was staggering, and if she could make Malfoy feel better, perhaps she too would feel better. 

Malfoy stormed off, and the curtains surrounding Harry’s bed fluttered with his departure. She listened to his steps clack loudly with every step he took. She summoned the on-call Senior Healer with a flick of her wand before she continued to mutter diagnostic spells. Healer Brighton seemed to perk up a bit without the threat of an Auror attempting to kill him with eye contact. 

“Was he unconscious when he came in?” Hermione asked the young man as he rose from the chair he’d collapsed into. 

“No.” He hesitated. “Auror Malfoy stupefied him because he was physically fighting him about being at the hospital. Mentioned something about his wife.” 

“Has his wife been contacted?” she asked, concluding that Harry didn’t need anything more complex than some Skeligrow, pain potion and rest. 

“No, I was sent straight to get you,” he replied, stepping aside when Senior Healer Graeme, a jolly man close to retirement, rounded the curtain and arrived at the bedside. 

“Merlin, Potter’s here again? Catch me up then.” He chuckled and Hermione began to do just that. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


She stayed with Harry, simply observing, until Ginny arrived an hour later. She was predictably livid, and was perhaps the worst of them, understandably, at keeping her temper when it came to Harry’s ability to hurl himself unnecessarily into the line of fire. He had only been awake for about ten minutes when Hermione heard her begin to lay into him. Her voice carried down the corridor and Hermione, once more, was glad they were in a more private part of the ward. Ginny was a Goddess of Retribution when you got her going. Dressed in Quidditch leggings and a large knitted jumper her mother had made her during her first pregnancy, she could have been wearing clothes made of fire. Her voice screeched as she pushed through the door, tugging a mortified five-year-old into the room behind her. 

_“Look at your Father Lily, and know what an idiot looks like.”_

Hermione walked towards the waiting room, having only stayed to make sure Ginny didn’t do anything to hinder her husband’s healing process, in search of his Partner; she’d known he wouldn’t leave without knowing if Harry was okay. The halls of this part of the hospital were so quiet this time of day. Most patients needed to be checked out by six o’clock and it was - fucking flobberworms - it was nine in the evening. She had been at work for nearly seventeen hours and it suddenly felt like it. She stopped in the middle of the hallway and looked both ways to check if she was alone. No one made their presence known, so she took one foot out of a heel and then the other. 

For a moment, she just let the soles of her feet luxuriate on the cool tiles beneath them. It felt glorious. She picked up the heels and carried on to her destination. When she turned the right corner, she came upon a set of doors pushed open, and found a sleeping Draco Malfoy slumped back, his head gently leaning against the wall behind him. She sat down next to him and let their arms slide next to one another’s, ready for him to wake up. 

“How is he?” he rumbled from somewhere deep in his chest. Not so asleep then. 

“He’ll be fine, as long as Gin doesn’t kill him before his ribs heal.” Flashes of red hair crackling with magic played behind her eyelids. 

“How are you?” he asked, more clearly than before. He turned her face to look him in the eye, and she finally let the exhaustion she felt for the job she loved no matter how much it frustrated her take over, knocking into her with the force of the Knight Bus. She slumped hard against his body and he pulled her over the wooden arm that separated them. He made shushing noises into her hair as her shoes clattered to the floor and she wept for her friend who refused to stop trying to save the world.

This was why she hadn’t been able to look at him with Harry on the bed in the emergency department. It was why, whenever he turned up at her work either for business or pleasure, she was unable to really even speak to him. Because she was fundamentally unable to hide her feelings for him, from him. 

This man who scared healers in training because he worried for his friend. Who had loved her and cried at her feet when she had forgiven him his sins whilst they were still just teenagers. Who loved her so completely, and whom she had married six years ago today. 

She sniffled as Draco peppered small kisses on her temple and over the shell of her ear. He made noises of comfort and murmured words that made very little sense but truly warmed her, slowing the tears that had erupted so violently. 

“I’m sorry I was rude to the boy,” he said, and she barked a small laugh next into his chest. She took a deep breath, inhaling everything Draco. She could smell their washing powder and the cotton of his shirt. But underneath that was the strong, dark herbal smell that she had smelt of in the alcoves of Hogwarts in 1999 just as strongly as she did when she woke up next to him every morning. 

“Happy Anniversary,” she whispered. “What did you have planned?” 

“Mmmm, a candle-lit dinner. A book, a rare one, and to feast on you into the night.” He wasn’t even talking when he finished, just breathing hot and hard into her ear before taking the soft skin beneath her earlobe between his teeth. His jaw widened and he groaned as his teeth sank softly into the flesh where her neck joined her shoulder. She shuddered. 

Without talking or picking up her shoes, she stood and took her husband’s hand. She smiled her sweetest, most devious smile and pulled him to his feet. A loose smirk fell about his features in a way that made her insides flame. She knew this hospital so well, too well. This wasn’t the first wedding anniversary she had spent in these halls and it probably wouldn’t be the last, but he would never ever make a fuss and Hermone wanted him to have a reward. She tugged him into a supply cupboard across the way and quickly found herself no longer in control. 

The darkness swallowed everything but the faint glow of magic that emitted from his wand as he wordlessly locked the doors and threw up half a dozen privacy charms. He had been performing wordless magic since they had left school, but it still turned her on, stoking at the fire his actions had already lit inside her. She pushed her hands into the darkness, her eyes adjusting to their environment, but she found her wrists tightly held together in one of his large hands just as he pushed her into the wall.. 

His nose dragged from her collarbone to her jawline, where his tongue flicked out and he left an open-mouthed kiss. “Mine.”

He said it in a way that may have been as much for him to say as it was for her to hear it. 

He lifted his jaw, their noses nudging. His eyes bore into hers, the grey slate glinting in the darkness. She could see so much in his eyes: his worry for his friend, his love - his want for her. 

She had to catch her breath as he kissed her slowly and purposefully. The kisses he gave her were coma inducing, made her lose all semblance of reality. She couldn’t run a hospital and be kissed by this man, especially not when his teeth grazed the inside of her bottom lip before biting down as he growled. 

He pinned her to the wall with his hips and deepened their kiss. It hurt to kiss Draco, not only because he was so far gone in his need for her that his teeth were making just as much an appearance as his tongue, but also because kissing Draco was a drug. Addictive, inducing delirium. Euphoria. 

Draco’s hands slid down her arms but she knew better than to move her hands from where they lay tight against the wall. Her dress was a navy blue silk wrap that tied not only at her waist on the outside but also at a small tether close to the underside of her bra. Draco knew this, he had bought her this dress, but instead of taking the time to unwrap it he simply tore it apart. She stared down at where her midnight blue bra and knickers blended in with her dark skin as he devoured her with his eyes. When he reached her face he was beaming from ear to ear. He always smiled like that when she was at least partially undressed. 

One hand climbed her torso, reverently skimming the lace of her bra cup and up towards her jawline. Two of his fingers dragged on her bottom lip and she opened her mouth to suck them in. His whole face was in rapture as they made eye contact and the fingertips of his other hand bit hard into the flesh of her hip.

“So fucking perfect,” he murmured. He dragged his fingers from her mouth and lightly moved them down over her sternum, stomach and beneath her knickers, leaving a trail of her saliva that shivered in the cool of the cupboard. His fingers lightly settled on the outside of her slit, and she could feel as well as he could that there had been no need for her to suck on his fingers, but since they both liked her doing it anyway, it didn’t really matter. “Dirty girl.”

Very quickly, his wrist turned and he was pushing the back of his hand hard into her clit as he closed his fist around her knickers and pulled _hard._ The lace burned as it ripped around her hips and the cold air brushed her cunt in a way that put every hair on her body on end. As quickly as his hand was gone, it was back, the broad pads of his fingers gathering her wetness from her opening and pushing roughly around her clit. 

A choked sob burst from her as his fingers moved relentlessly. A finger on each side of her clit circled in small ovals, a skill only learned from a decade of very enthusiastic sex, pulling her towards a quick and brazing orgasm. The thread inside her that started where his fingers moved over her pulled, pulled, _pulled_ until she was shattering against the wall and her arms finally fell to her sides. She must have moaned awfully loud because when she whimpered at the loss of his fingers, it scratched her throat a little. 

She could feel nothing but the pulsing in her cunt, and over the heaving of her own deep breaths, she heard the whispers of how _wonderful_ she was and small murmured begs for _another, please give me another Hermione._

Draco leaned in, his lips brushing her cheek before he whispered against her ear, “turn around.”

Twisting between his arms, which were now planted either side of her shoulders, she rested her forehead against the cold concrete wall. Draco’s hands slipped underneath her ripped dress and he pushed the fabric over her left hip, dropping to his knees behind her. His forehead rested against the swell of her arse before his teeth took a bite of it, and another, and another. His avid worship of her rear was no surprise to her, but him taking the time to pray at the altar of her bum while they celebrated their anniversary in a storage room was touching in a way that also made her want to climb him. 

Hermione squirmed as she felt Draco get to his feet behind her and, grabbing a hold of her hips he silently maneuvered her how he wanted; arched back and arse out. She felt his knuckles drag against her bare skin as he unzipped his flies and pushed both his trousers and pants down, his belt buckle clacking against the floor. 

The wide head of his cock dragged over her slit and she made a low whining noise that caused him to huff a quiet laugh behind her. He pushed in with one thrust and a hiss. “Yessssssss.” He dropped his forehead to her neck, all his breath leaving him to skate over the sensitive skin of her neck. 

“Please, Draco.” she whispered, when he pulled out almost entirely before pushing deep back into her. He shifted her hips back, the head of his cock nudging a spot inside of her that caused her to whine a low continuous sound against the wall. He was knocking the breath from her lungs as her fingernails dragged down the wall, needing something to hold on to. She was going to float away otherwise. 

He tugged sharply at the hair at the base of her skull and she was trying to say something to him. Trying to tell him how good it was, how good it always was. She wanted to tell him how much she loved him, loved him when he was scaring her staff and loved him when he was fucking her senseless at her place of work. But everytime she opened her mouth all she could manage were tiny whimpers of appreciation as he continuously hit the spot inside of her that had made her speechless in the first place. 

“Please,” he grunted, his hips snapping quicker now, and Hermione knew that he was close. “Please, let me have just one more Hermione. Just one more. Just for me.” 

“ _Yes,_ ” she moaned. Every muscle in her body vibrated as he fucked her just right. Two more thrusts and as his balls hit her clit just so - she was spiralling. Screaming into the hard surface of the wall as his arms circled her waist and pulled her against the safe, strong structure of his body. He rutted up into her, spilling himself inside of her as he groaned obscenities into her neck. 

They stayed like that for a little while, standing pressed together in the middle of the cupboard, surrounded by large vials of Pain Relief Potion and Pepper Up. She could feel him softening inside her, and when he eventually pulled away she felt their come coat the inside of her thighs. 

  
She stood quietly, watching as he pulled his trousers up and neatened himself before he got to work on repairing her dress and cast a quick _tergeo_ so she could walk comfortably without her destroyed knickers. He tucked those into his pocket. He whispered quietly into her ear how much he loved her, how much he loved their life, and she smiled up at him and held his jaw in her hands. 

“Come on. You can say goodbye to Potter and then we’ll go home.” He opened the door to the cupboard and held it for her to leave, taking her hand in his as they walked back towards the ward. They were halfway there when she stopped with a groan, peering back over her shoulder. 

“I forgot my shoes.”


End file.
